Hot Gardack Nights

Hot Gardack Nights

A mosquito zipped and buzzed about the mammothskin tent, bumping up futilely against the soot covered ceiling searching for an escape.  Neverlin sighed, dabbing the moister from his forehead with a silk napkin and sunk deeper into an arrangement of satin pillows.  Even in the late evening the sticky hot weather was intolerable, and he was sweating like a virgin in the Pyramid of Ancients.  A pile of searing red coals in the center of the tent certainly didn’t help matters either. The mosquito dove towards him suddenly, perilously close, but still just out of the Necromancer’s grasp. With a blink, Neverlin snuffed the life force out of the tiny insect and watched it spiral downward onto the smoldering coals, incinerating it with a faint sizzle.

He really hated the swamps.

One would imagine life assigned to one of the more opulent command tents would prove more commodious.  But the thick canvas only served to trap the moist air in, like living in a dog’s mouth Neverlin thought despondently.  He shook his mane of blond hair in distain, damn those Amazons for dragging him out here.  Nevertheless, these bitches had to be dealt with.  Atlanta and her meddlesome crones had forged a complex series of alliances stretching from Cimmeria to Stygia, openly flouting the Legion’s authority.  Leaving them here to prosper in their swampy home was untenable.

The Legion would not be mocked.

But now, in the wake of this evening’s battle, the Amazon’s recalcitrance had come to an end. The warriors of the Legion overwhelmed the defenses of Gardack, razing the stronghold to the ground and butchering any cowards failing to outrun their comrades. The grand alliance folded, falling as hastily as it was formed. Now, an example had to be made of those that survived.  He dabbed his forehead again and continued his assignment.

 “Next” he announced phlegmatically.  

The flap of the tent flipped open and a broad woman dressed in nothing but heavy chains, was shoved violently forward. A pair of fierce-looking clansmen followed.  Heavy, studded leather straps holding a variety of wicked blades crisscrossed their chests. Large swords swinging in iron scabbards glinted in the hissing torchlight. Menacing tattoos swirling in intricate patterns covered their features. Their massive muscles were caked in dirt, dried blood and soot, and as they stepped in together, Neverlin could smell their sour sweat over his burning incense.   Each held a chain connected to the woman’s neck in their callused covered hands. 

A lively one Neverlin mused.  

His eyes glided over her sweat -slicked body as he appraised the nude woman.  She appeared to have taken a mace to the face, perhaps two, making it difficult to access whether her swollen face may have been attractive at one point.  She swooned and moaned, only able to stand with the assistance of the clansmen holding her up by the chains. She made a strange wheezing sound through her missing teeth as she fought for each labored breath.

Neverlin twirled his finger in a lazy circle. “Let’s see the back.” Roughly, the big Cimmerians twisted the woman around; Neverlin winced when he saw the deep slash running between her shoulder blades, ending at the small of her back.  Neverlin’s knowledge in anatomy was unmatched. He quickly judged one could not survive such a grievous wound.  However this cut appeared sealed by a long black ashy streak.  The mark of a Herald no doubt.  If Neverlin put silver to it, he would guess Ashis.  That wicked boy very much enjoyed watching his victims writhe on the ground long after the fight was over, while Izumi had no time for such games.

Neverlin considered the woman a moment longer, taking this duty extremely seriously.  Turning his attention to the selection of iron brands nestled within the searing coals, he drew the first from the flames carefully.  He looked to the end of the brand, a frowning skull, the mark of Kaine.  Neverlin raised his eyebrows, and placed the brand back with the others, shaking his head “certainly not” he muttered to himself. 

With pleasure, he drew the brand and drove it into the woman’s shoulder.  She suddenly screamed to life for a moment as a piercing howl whistled through the gap in her teeth.  Sadly, she went silent again before the blistering of her skin ceased.

“Next” he said blithely.

Boisterous hooting and hollering obviously meant to intimidate sounded outside the tent as the burley clansman pulled the flap aside. The prisoner stumbled in, catching hold of the pole before falling on her face.  She worn only a tight brown skirt, revealing a young curvy figure complemented well by smooth mocha skin.  Her twin auburn braids draped over her chest, teasingly concealing her round breasts. She wore a stern expression, a compound of resentment, injured pride and mulish obstinacy.  Still, Neverlin noticed the slightest quiver of her lower lip. He tasted fear.  Anxious to augment her dread, he addressed her in gentle tone “ What do they call you child?”

The Amazon’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Tindra,” she said in a small, strained voice.  Neverlin flashed her a treacherous glare and his mouth turned up in a grin: where was this woman’s haughty disposition now?

Taking a long and deliberate look at her shapely legs, he slowly stood and approached the Amazon; lifting his violet robe a hair to ensure it would not drag upon the ground.  He cupped her chin forcefully in his hand, forcing her face to the left and right appraising the stock.  Neverlin casually flicked the braid to the side and seized her right nipple, twisting as he spoke in his liquid tone.

“The Lich Lord tires of women quickly, no matter how beautiful.” Neverlin twisted harder until she gasped in pain. “I expect it will be no different with you, and when he moves on to the next, he gives us the ones he is finished with. If she still lives of course.” His ice blue eyes gleamed in menace and his lips turned up in a smile completely bereft of humor “Know that I will be first.”  Her dark eyes flooded with anguish and the men in the tent laughed uproariously.  Neverlin’s grinned widened; pleased they found his wit so entertaining.

His fingers drifted to her left breast, but light abruptly flooded the tent, drawing his attention. “Lord Neverlin,” a young man’s voice said.  It came from the flap of the tent; a young scout poked his head in. He was a pale lad, his face showing traces of a red beard sprouting like moss. 

“What is it?”

“Lord, I am sorry for the interruption, but I regret to report the Queen and her General have escaped” Neverlin tutted. The Liche Lord charged him with delivering up the Queen and General for his personal amusement.  This failure would certainly prove painful for Neverlin.  Thankfully, the Liche Lord had already set his sights northward, marching on Oakenhome within hours of concluding the Legion had attained victory here. 

He still had time.

Neverlin held the scout with his penetrating gaze, saying nothing as he pondered the report. The scout squirmed with discomfort under the Necromancer’s frightful stare.  “I shall double my efforts,” The scout offered, no doubt hoping this may assuage the Necromancer’s anger.  Neverlin smiled back, “Good, I should hope you will double your efforts…. in your new assignment.”  The scout stared back dumbly, and then raised a hand in protest as the big clansman snatched him by his carrot topknot and hauled him the rest of the way into the tent. 

Neverlin reached for the white hot Officer’s brand as the grizzly veteran punched the youth in the face to silence his vigorous remonstrations.  He dragged the youth to the Necromancer by the legs as if the scout was a spring hen. The warrior held the young man’s arms behind his back and ripped open his tunic revealing a hairless chest.  The scout shut his eyes tight and turned his face away, screaming incoherently as Neverlin planted the searing bursting flame symbol into his chest.  The boy trembled, sobbing inconsolably as Neverlin spoke.

“After all, not all officer’s have the same taste.”

Neverlin suspected the Tempest Miriyah had not seen cock since Fenixx’s unexpected departure. Whether that was the case or not, she certainly seemed moody as of late. Perhaps this little twink was just the release she needed.  Neverlin was tickled with how thoughtful he could be at times.

“Now leave this girl with me, I believe I’ve earned a respite myself…”

Neverlin shrugged.  Kaine was gone…and he was in trouble anyway.